


What You're Doing To Me

by SugarFloss



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comedy, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Love Confessions, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:19:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarFloss/pseuds/SugarFloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Herald of Andraste finds herself falling for Commander Cullen.  It seems unlikely that the former Templar could fall in love with a Dalish Mage like herself, but it won’t stop her from hoping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The night was still, except for the slight twinkling of the stars deep within the heavens. The wind was but a slight rustle that pushed gently past the Herald’s face. She closed her eyes slowly, enjoying the lazy play of air that brushed against her skin. She was resting the eyes that had been gazing watchfully upon Haven for hours. For once during her long watchman’s post, there was peace. For once, the silence pressed deeply upon her elven ears.

The Herald of Andraste was able to enjoy the tranquility the night offered but for a fraction of a minute. Moments after she had closed her eyes and tipped her angular face to the skies, raucous voices marred the evenings peace.

“That bastard said that drinks were on him,” a rough male voice called from the nearby tavern.

“Peace man,” said a second voice, trying to quiet his drinking fellow down. “He bought a round! Be thankful for that! And Flissa said she would pay for another of your tankards, that’s two free drinks, why should you be bothered?”

“I would have stopped drinking earlier had I know that he was not paying for all the fuckin’ drinks I was drinking,” the first man slurred in a stupor. The drunk man began to chuckle in earnest. “Did I misunderstand his generosity?”

“Yes, I believe you did. One round was one him, not your whole bloody tab, you drunken idiot,” the second laughed in a jovial voice. “Let’s get back to the tents, Commander Cullen will not be impressed by your antics. Pray to Andraste that Flissa does not tattle on us!”

“Ah, the fuckin’ Commander, goody fuckin’ two shoes, I bet his mother is a whore and his father a poet, the pretty boy,” the first drunken man said to his companion.

“His father’s a poet,” the second commented, “is that a new insult you came up with yourself?”

“By the Maker, I know a pretty boy son of a poet when I see one,” the second bragged, slurring his words. “Not even a bard! I bet..." he hiccuped quietly into a closed fist, “..his father couldn’t recite one effigy, ha! Naw, he had to write, revise, and edit his stinkin’ rhymes. 'Cause if he didn’t, well, then they didn’t rhyme very well, now did they?”

The two drunken men guffawed. The second put a steadying arm around the first and said, “Let’s get your drunken arse back to the camp. I’m really not looking forward the dawn. It will come swiftly and without mercy for us both!”

_Yes_ , thought the Herald, _move your arses quickly. I will remove the drunk, quivering flesh from your rears before you ever get the chance to return to your tents should you insult my Commander again!_

Her cheeks warmed slightly at the thought of feeling protective of the Commander. He was capable. He did not need her protection by any means. The Herald leaned closer to the freezing stone wall she was resting against in patrol and felt a shiver cross her spine. This new found feeling of protectiveness wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, but the origins seemed mysterious to her.

After meeting briefly on the battlefield outside of the Temple of Scared Ashes, the Herald knew that the Commander was no ordinary shemlen. She could see something haunting him, deep within his eyes. She saw it reflecting in a way that she could not put into words. She was more eloquent than the men that had just exited the tavern, but she did not possess the vocabulary to describe what she saw within him. Those words were unable to reach her tongue to move her lips.

There was something about him though, that made her want to pause and reflect. The Herald had to dismiss this thought quickly, there was no time to reflect upon anyone. She had work to do. She squinted her eyes past the two drunken soldiers, now singing a drinking song as they exited the gates of Haven, stumbling towards the camp just outside. Nothing would appear during her watch. She would see any danger lurking far... lurking near... coming... coming towards her new found comrades...

...And somehow she missed the most obvious threat of all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric catches the Herald drifting off during her night watch.

“Having a good dream, Sleeping Beauty?” Varric’s gruff voice asked in sarcasm.

“Ugh, Varric,” the Herald grumbled, waking from an unrestful dose. “I was dreaming you were sucking my dick.”

“Oh,” Varric laughed, “I didn’t realize you had a dick in those skin tight leather pants of yours!”

“My scrotum is pressed so tight up against my stomach I can’t breath,” she moaned in a groggy voice.

“Oh, my deepest apologies, Sleeping Beauty, I didn’t realize I was interrupting a wet dream,” Varric sighed in mock sorrow.

The world began to appear more sharply around the Herald’s foggy vision. Now she fully realized that she had dozed off during her post watching the front entrance of Haven. This was unacceptable. But it was more unacceptable for Varric to sass her.

“If I was having a wet dream it would have been of you - you stocky son of a bitch. But I wasn’t sleeping, I was simply looking into the Fade. That’s why my eyes were closed,” She stated with a quiver of a laugh in her voice.

“Okay, okay,” Varric said with a smile. “So what did you see in the Fade? I know I wasn’t there, obviously. Were you gallivanting with Solas in the untamed wilderness, prancing as elves are prone to do?”

“Prancing with Solas? Doubt it!” the Herald laughed out loud. Solas was her friend and she had come to regard him with respect for his knowledge, his understanding, his unaltering view of the Fade. There was no prancing to be done with that man. The self-righteous prick of a bastard.

“Okay, you got me. I wasn’t looking into the Fade. I dozed off. I’m an awful Herald. I’m beyond help. I need all the Gods on my side just to stay awake! Ugh, but I don’t believe in Andraste and I barely believe in elevin gods! Do you have any blessings to bestow on me, Varric? How about Stone preserve me? Or Paragons look down up on me?”

“Despite all the lore from my people, kid, I doubt the Paragons look down upon you,” Varric smirked. “If anything, they look up to you, because they’re Dwarves and your so tall!  Okay, so that was not the funniest joke you've ever hear.  But, you know, I’ve told many stories, yours is still in the making.  You’ll do fine without my blessings. Anyhow, I doubt the Paragons give two shits about how a Dalish is tying to save the humans from some that shit in the sky.”

“My story will be everyone’s story, Varric,” the Herald murmured through the bright red hair of her overlong bangs as a wintery gust of wind pushed against her. “Even the Dwarfs can’t survive underground if the sky tears apart. But I’ve got my secrets. Some secrets even Cassandra couldn’t beat out of me. Which is more than I can say of you.”

“Your good looks and your smart mouth will only get you so far Lavellan!” Varric called, even though the Herald had turned her back to him. “You’ll see. Hawke had a mouth as well. But she had the muscle to back it up!”

  
"You almost sound like you might know where Hawke is, friend,” the Herald smirked over her shoulder as she walked further away from the dwarf, away from the warm comforts of the bonfire located in front of the gates of Haven. “Best we keep that a secret between you and I. I’d hate if Cassandra felt left out.”

“That’s not a subject Cassandra should be privy to,” Varric smiled at the Herald. She smiled back, conspiratorially. The Herald shook her head and gave a wave of her hand. She strode towards the private homestead the Inquisition had so generously allowed her to dwell in.

Varric yelled back at the Herald, “I know your secrets Herald! I’m a story teller, remember. I know people’s stories before they even know them for themselves!”

“Oh yeah? Tell me the stories that you know of me! I dare you to shout them out. I would love to hear them myself,” the Herald smirked to herself, knowing that Varric had no dirt on her.

“Are you going to make me say what I know out loud?” Varric asked.

“Doubt that you know any truths,” The Herald walked towards Varric so they wouldn’t have to shout over the din of the biting wind. She smiled an put her hands on her hips.

“I see the way you look at him,” Varric stated, frankness in his voice.

“What?” The Harald shifted the weight of her hips and narrowed her eyes. She was trying to look as if she did not have the faintest notion of what he spoke of.

“I get it! I really do,” Varric said in hushed tones. “You like Cullen. He’s good looking enough, and it makes for an interesting story! Maybe I’ll make my next protagonist in _Swords and Shields_ based off of him. You’d like that, huh, Herald?”

“I’d like you to suck my arse!” Varric just laughed and shook his head. Color had leapt into her cheeks. Why must her face burn when she, herself, felt as ice cold as marble as the wind whipped around her? The freezing gusts could chill her skin, but the thought Commander Cullen could warm her up instantaneously. He made her feel as if her bones and skin were made of glowing embers - hot and pulsing with energy.

Why should a human make her feel like her bones were aflame? Before the death and destruction at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, she was in line to be the next Keeper of her clan. The Keeper of her most beloved Dalish clan! She was a Mage of great talent. She was valued within the Dalish, as one of the few Mages in her linage. As an elf living amongst humans, she didn’t know quite know where she fit in.

 _Am I an apostate? A rebel apostate mage?_   To be an apostate she would have had to recognize the Chantry’s law or the Circle, or whatever the crazy shems believed in to curtail the power of Mages. She did not believe in their dogmas. But where did that leave her in the grand scheme of things?

But this was a thought for another day. She turned her back on Varric, heading towards her new home. She swayed her hips as she walked away, attempting a flare that she had only seen successfully pulled of by Vivienne. She was not trying to be seductive, only trying to play at a posture of confidence. She was too fragile, too lanky too pull off this strut.

“Why are you limping Lavellan?” Varric called after the Herald.

“Why do you care?” she called back, slightly embarrassed. “I assumed you were here to take over my post. Keep your eyes on the entrance to Haven. Gods forbid anything unholy enter our grounds. Good night and farewell, sweet Varric. Maker watch over you, the Stone bless you, Andraste bless your next of kin or some such nonsense!”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Get to bed and finish the nap I so inconveniently interrupted!” Varric called from the warmth of the fire, laughing to himself as the Harald half-walked, half-jogged away from him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mages have joined the Inquisition, and Cassandra is none too pleased. But the Herald is determined to find the Commander and get his opinion. Or at least that's her excuse for wanting some alone time with him.

Many battles were fought. Some were barely won, others were sweeping wins. With her companions by her side, she felt almost invincible as she closed rift after rift. The Hinterlands, The Storm Coast, The Fallow Mire. Demons did not stand much of a chance against her. It wasn’t until Redcliffe and the Herald’s decision to side with the Mages that heads turned.

The Mages began to pour into Haven and the Herald noticed that Cassandra wore a particularly sour expression . “Why would you blame me, Cassandra? I did what was needed. I made a decision when no one was there to give me council!” The Herald spoke loudly as the Seeker was giving her a grievously cold and disdainful shoulder. Cassandra slashed at a practice dummy with a sword much more worn and decrepid than the one she usually shouldered in battle. I suited her purposes though, and the dummy probably thought it was more than adequate.

“I probably sound like I am complaining, friend. I am not. You made a decision - I respect that. I do not blame you, on the contrary, I wish I could make a decision and stand by it like you do. But that is my own burden to bare.” The Seeker had stopped slashing at the practice dummy as she spoke. Sweat glistened on her brow as she breathed heavily.

“You need to get laid Cassandra,” the Herald laughed at her. “Allow these poor practice dummies to retire, and roll in the hay with someone. Blackwall is near the stables as we speak.”

“Be that as it may,” Cassandra sighed heavily, out of breath from her assault of the practice dummy, “The Mages have just arrived, and already Fiona has been complaining. She states that the provisions for her people are poor. They do not appreciate bunking in tents with the soldiers. I don’t know why she must protest this to me - I did not invite them here as equals.”

“Well, the Commander’s soldiers haven’t complained about provisions. We’ve been in Haven for months. The Mages can cope.” As an afterthought the Herald asked, “The Commander sleeps along side his troops, right?”

Cassandra raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“That’s why I asked,” the Herald asked with a straight face.

Cassandra cleared her throat and gave a slight shake of her head. “He has quarters in the Chantry, but for the most part, yes. He sleeps in the tents outside of Haven, with his troops.”

“Well if it’s good enough for the Commander of the Inquisition’s army, it should be good enough for them. I should let you get back to killing that dummy, I would like to see what a former Templar has to say about our new alliance with these Mages.”

The Herald asked around the forward camp, looking for the Commander. When she found a top ranking officer she said, in a voice she was hoping did not sound too eager, “Please tell the Commander to meet me in the War Room at his earliest convenience.”

The officer bellowed, loud and enthusiastic, “Yes ser! Right way, Herald of Andraste!” He saluted, clicked his heels and marched off.

She felt proud, Cullen had obviously made quite an impression with the recruits. She gazed upon the open field, tents peppering the horizon, and watched her men at arms. Jabbing, blocking, lunging - all of them in good spirits. _Excellent_ , she thought, _they are certainly enthusiastic!_

She took delicate steps up the stone entrance to Haven, trying not to swing her hips as she had so foolishly done with Varric previously. He had called her out so hard it was embarrassing, and she did not wish to repeat such a fiasco.

_Now what?_ She thought to herself as she walked through Haven and towards the Chantry. _I asked Cullen to meet me in the War Room at the earliest convenience to him! What the hell do I do now? Hang out in the War Room and stay there all evening?! May the Dread Wolf take me, I am so awkward!_

The Herald entered the Chantry, and slipped past Chancellor Roderick and Mother Giselle quietly, not wanted to be accosted by either of these two. She opened the door to the War Room. Taking an old tome that was lying on the grand table, she found a chair and opened the book. With a heavy sigh, she began to read and wait patiently.

Josephine was the first to enter the quiet War Room. She bowed in her graceful style, placed her marker upon the map of Orlais, and ducked out of the dim room with nothing more than, “Your worship.”

Leliana was the next to enter the room. “Good evening, I hope you do not mind the intrusion,” she told the Herald with a slight incline of her head. The spymaster stood cross armed in the room for some time, eyes darting back and forth upon the the map, as if she was reading a text that the Herald could not see. When she was done, she smiled and inclined her head once more, and walked out of the room quite as a shadow.

Then he entered the room. Poor sod.

_He has to listen to Leliana, Josephine, Cassandra and me all day. What did he do in a past life to deserve all this estrogen flowing in his direction?_

“Herald,” Cullen stated formally. “I heard from my soldiers you wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes,” the Herald stated plainly. “I did.”

“What do you wish of me?” Cullen asked.

_I wish more of you than you know, glorious beast!_ She thought to herself. _I want to smell the polish on your armor and fluff the feathers of your overcoat with my bum! Oh, what are you doing to me?!_

She pushed the ridiculous thoughts from her head and lied quickly, “I was hoping to discuss Fiona and the Mages. Cassandra says that morale on their end is low. Your soldiers seem to be fairing better than they.”

Cullen put his hand up to his neck and shifted his weight, sighing. The Herald’s heart sank at the worry she could read in his body language. She hoped this subject could be wrapped up soon. She was keen on spending some time with him that did not involve the worries of the Inquisition.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time spent in the War Room - the chapter is written in both the Herald's and Cullen's point of view.

The Commander and the Herald spent most of the evening over a dim-lit candle, hovering over the map, but not discussing military tactics. They laughed over minor victories that were apparent on the map. They laughed over her stories; people she had convinced to join the Inquisition even though they were unsure. They laughed over his stories; soldiers that were reluctant to take the battle seriously.

Her hand was placed casually on the table as they spoke. Cullen was standing to her left, his hand dangerously close to her own. Was it just her, or could she feel electricity thrumming through her hand? If she just extended her little finger out but a millimeter, they would be touching. Just as this exciting thought passed her mind, a little spark of green jumped from her left hand and zapped the Commander’s own.

Both the Herald and Cullen jumped slightly, startled. _Guess that electricity I was feeling was more literal than I thought!_ They looked at each other. The Herald laughed nervously, and she saw Cullen’s amber eyes crinkle with a grin.

“I’m sorry. I can’t always control this thing,” she stated raising her left hand to her eyes and observing it from varying angles. The mark had gone quiet.

Cullen took her hand into both his own. The Herald’s breath hitched in her chest. He was wearing gloves of the softest leather, but she could feel the heat from his skin almost vibrating through her. _Oh Gods, let this be just metaphorical electricity this time, she begged silently._ Her heart beat quickened and pounded so hard it was affecting her vision.

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” Cullen questioned her, gently stroking his fingers on her open palm. She looked into his eyes, surely he must see the blush creeping into her cheeks. Their faces were so close! She shook her head slowly. No words could find their way to her lips.

The Commander seemed to realize he was grasping at her hand, and he pulled away abruptly. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “G-good,” he stammered, clearly taken aback by his own boldness. “I must return to my duties Herald. Good evening.” He turned on his heel, and strode out of the door. And just like that the Herald was left standing alone in the War Room, hand still outstretched in front of her. She felt oddly cold in his absence.

*************************************************************************************************************

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen murmured with a sigh as he exited the room. This Mage would be the death of him. From the moment he set eyes on her, he knew he was in for trouble. On the mountain path, heading toward the Temple of Sacred Ashes, he had spotted her for the first time. She was still in Cassandra’s custody as a prisoner, still a suspect in the explosion that had ripped open the sky. She had just used her Mark to seal a Fade rift, and her pale eyes had been rimmed with red, as if she had been crying or perhaps deprived of sleep. She had looked a little worse for wear, but there had been a chilling energy gleaming from somewhere beneath the haggard posture. He had foolishly thought that she could not possibly be the prisoner so many had spoken of. This beautiful creature could not be the monster that had killed so many at the Conclave. She could not have murdered Divine Justinia.

Her long red hair had whipped around her lithe frame as the apostate Solas congratulated her on sealing another breach.

Cassandra might have only kept the prisoner alive for the Mark upon her left hand, but Cullen instantly had his doubts about Amara Lavellan’s guilt. He knew it had been her beauty that clouded his judgment. But it soon came to pass after that first fateful meeting, that many had began to believe in her innocence.

He strode out of the Chantry, pondering what had just passed a moment ago between he and the Herald. Was it just his imagination, or was there a pulsing beat that had nothing to do with the Herald’s Mark before it reached forward to touch him? Maybe it was his own quickening heartbeat that he had sensed. _I am a fool_ , he thought with a shake of his head. His hand reached out to rub the back of his neck - a nervous habit he could not seem to shake. _What could I offer this woman, this Mage? I’m an ex-Templar, depriving myself from lyrium. After Ferelden’s Circle... after my anger with the Mages... my past. I came here to distance myself from that. What could be gained by attempting to pursue her?_

_Besides the chance to pull her close and claim her mouth with yours?_ A smaller, more hopeful thought answered his own question.  _Besides the chance to hear her sigh your name as you take her for your own?_

Tonight had been the first evening they had gone any length of time without discussing Inquisition plans or strategies. It had actually been the first instance they had spent any length of time in just each others company. The Commander felt shame creeping into heart. One evenings worth of conversation, and he was already imagining taking her lips with his own!

The Herald was close with all her Inner Circle. She had drinks in the tavern with Varric, Dorian, Iron Bull and the rest of the Chargers. In their company she was loud, raucous and smiled easily at crass jokes and jeers. When she was with Solas, they would put their heads together over books rich with magic and whisper about spells and the Fade. She absorbed his knowledge readily, thirsty to know more. She would listen patiently as Vivienne would describe to her the need for the Circle’s restoration. Nodding and docile, quietly gauging the merits of a position that she did not agree with whole-heartedly. Cassandra taught her sparring with weapons and basic shield defense. Although not a wariror, the Herald absorbed the lessons, much enthralled. She would drink wine and giggle lightly with Leliana and Josephine about Orlesian politics and The Game. The Herald had a multifaceted personality, and could be whatever her companions needed her to be.

But where did that leave him? He opened the heavy doors, leaving the Chantry A sprinkling of flurries pushed past him, carried by a freezing wind. Snow crunched under his heavy boots as he walked through the twilight back to the camp on the outskirts of Haven.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald prepares to seal the Breach, but it might be time for a drink before they get down to business.

The plans were made to finally attempt to seal the Breach. A large party of Mages and soldiers were preparing themselves to march out within the next few days. The Herald and her Inner Circle would lead the procession back to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to put an end to the chaos. Tensions ran high, and none was quite so tense as the Herald. She could be seen wandering through Haven with a stiff posture. She managed to speak with such conviction, as to empower those around her. She encouraged them to keep a high spirit, to believe they were going to march out to victory. Troops and Mages alike rallied around her and cheered at her words.

_I wonder if she even believes those words herself_ , Varric thought. He didn’t think she was as strong as she was making herself out to be. She was very capable, but Maker did she look fragile. He shook his head slightly at the thought of the enormous burden that had been placed on this elf’s shoulders. It just wasn’t fair.

They were getting close to the final days of their preparations. It was time to have some fun and he had just the perfect idea. _We have to have a night to live_ , Varric thought. _We could all be dead within the week._

He just needed to run his idea past the Herald and he knew just where to find her. She had been interested in creating some new armor for her most epic battle to date. He crunched through the snow that had fallen fresh the previous evening. She would most likely be working with Harritt the blacksmith. He exited the Gates and headed to his left towards the smithy. Sure enough, she was walking away from the hot forge, a glimmering new set of light armor in her arms.

“Hey Lavellan! Come here for a minute,” Varric called to her with a beckoning gesture. “I wanna talk to you!”

She nodded and smiled, trying to wave back at him, but the armor threatened to fall from her grasp. She trotted up to his side. “When a sexy man such as yourself calls, I’m all ears. Well, I suppose I’m all ears all the time anyhow, but that’s beside the point.”

“You’re so witty,” he told her with a small wink. “That was the best joke I’ve heard in ages. Not really, but I came here trying to make you feel better.”

“With that attitude, I feel much better. Mission complete, Varric!”

“But seriously, I wanted to catch a drink in the tavern this evening. Maybe invite some of our friends? We need to remember what we’re fighting for here. I think some down time would do us all some good.” He looked up at her to calculate her reaction.

Her face beamed in excitement and she nodded, cheeks rosy from the cold air. “Sounds like a date then.”

He walked with her to her door and opened it for her. She walked inside and placed the armor down to the ground. “Thank you. What time should we meet up?”

“I’d say let’s plan on being there about eight.” He turned to leave, and smiled back at her, “Take a bath before you come. I’m inviting Cullen and you won’t want to smell like a sweaty forge in front of him!” He closed the door, but not before he saw her face blush fiercely. _Ah, tonight’s gonna be a good night_ , he thought to himself as he walked away.

The Singing Maiden was packed to bursting that evening, but Varric had made sure to let Flissa know early on to save a large table for his party. Every one of the companions had turned up in the tavern, gathered together to support the Herald. They told stories from their lives before they had been called to the Inquisition. They carefully avoided discussing future plans. The future was not guaranteed to any of them.

Their table overflowed with tankards and goblets. The conversation had started mildly enough, but as the evening wore on and more drinks were consumed it had taken a rather abrupt turn. Leliana began risqué tale from her days as a bard.

Varric watched the Herald’s face as Leliana spared no details. The Herald’s complexion had started out with a slight drunken rosiness. Her face quickly became more red as the tale continued on.

“Are you okay there Herald?” Varric asked her, shaking with silent laughter at the look of mortification on her face. “With all the shit you talk to me I’m shocked that her story has got you so hot and bothered!”

“Don’t make fun of me! I enjoyed your story, Leliana, it was just a little... uh...” she stammered. Varric could see that she was gripping her tankard hard enough to make her knuckles go white. She was at a loss for words. _Oh this is fun!_

“Kinda friggin’ hot!” Sera interjected excitedly. “Now I’ve got to go change my smalls, thanks Leliana!”

Cullen coughed into his hand, face as red as the Herald’s own.

Solas stood up from the table abruptly, “I believe I shall take my leave now.”

“I will follow you as well,” Vivienne stated. “Farewell, my dears.”

Goodbyes and good evenings were said. Varric could see the relief in the Herald’s eyes. _She thinks she’s off the hook, does she?_

“So you never finished staying what you thought of her story!” He called out at her.

“Oh stop Varric,” Leliana reached over the table to pat the Herald’s hand. “The Dalish take such things more seriously than I ever did as a bard. The Lavellan Clan expects elves to bond for life, no?”

The Herald let a strained breath out slowly before beginning. “One usually knows who they wish to pursue from a younger age. Courtship is long, and when an elf comes of age they can choose to preform a bonding ritual. Then, I guess comes the important part - Dalish babies. The current Keeper of my clan always attempts to keep our blood line pure. I chose to walk a different path. I was to be the next Keeper. I chose not to take part of this custom.”

“Ah, a free agent then Lavellan?” Varric asked her, mainly for Cullen’s sake. He could see that Cullen’s face had fallen at the thought of her being betrothed to a nameless Dalish stranger.

“If that’s how you want to put it, I suppose so yes,” she replied. “How about you, Commander? Did the Templars have any rules or restrictions in such matters?”

Varric chuckled to himself as he saw Cullen stiffen at the question. He shook his head, took a long gulp of his drink, and set it back down on the table. It was obvious he was trying to collect his thoughts.

“W-why do you ask?” He stuttered. 

“Curiosity, Commander. I’ve told of my people, now what of yours?”

“The Templars have no ban on relationships or marriage. Some do decide to take vows of, uh, celibacy. But that’s not required,” Cullen’s hand had reached up to his neck to rub nervously.

“Have you?” The Herald asked. Varric could tell she was trying to be as nonchalant as possible.

“I-I have not, Maker’s breath, can we talk about something else?”

The group around the table all laughed in unison. Varric raised his glass in a toast, “Here’s to knowing more about each other than we ever hoped too!”

“And blowing the Breach straight out of the sky!” The Herald added. They drank deeply, and the conversation returned to lighter, easier topics.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter about a chaste kiss of the hand.

It was time to march out.  The sun barely peaked over the mountains and a chill whipped through the air.  The break of day was humming with energy, yet somehow seemed muffled.  Maybe it was the Herald’s own blood rushing through her body, slamming into her eardrums that had caused such an ominous hush to alter her perception of the world.  _Everyone’s lives hang in my left hand today._   Her hand answered the thought with an almost imperceptible crack of emerald static.  
  

Either the Breach would be sealed later this day or they would all be dead.  The ominous green gloom had hung in the distance for far too long.  The Herald eyed the evil glowing rip in the sky with anxiety flooding into her heart.  The small Fade rifts in the outskirts had proven mostly to be a nuisance in her journeys, nothing more than an annoying obstacle in her path.  Those rifts where but a fraction of the size of the Breach.  So many people were counting on her... so many lives could be saved - or lost.  Why did the fate of all of Thedas have to rest on her shoulders?  She mounted her steed, trying to keep her face devoid of emotion.  Cassandra and Solas were to ride on either side of her until they reached their destination.  The Mages and some select soldiers were to follow in their wake.  The Mages were prepared to fill her with strength to help seal the Breach; the soldiers were prepared to deal with the onslaught of demons should she fail.  
 

The stables reeked of horse shit and moldy hay.  The Herald sat gripping her sturdy mare with her thighs and looked at the scene unfolding before her eyes.  Mounts gleamed in the dim morning light, steam rising from their over-warmed bodies.  Men and women in polished armor were silhouetted against the lake to the east.  The soldiers were beginning to assemble on foot, on the road leading north.  At the head of the troops the Commander sat on an a large black warhorse.  He called hurried commands from atop the beast, attempting to create order from mayhem.  
 

She gave a curt nod to Cassandra and Solas, “I’ll return shortly.  I would like to have a word with Commander Cullen about the troops before we begin our march.”  
 

“Certainly you would,” Cassandra said with a slight gleam in her stern glare.  
 

Uncaring of what Cassandra thought, the Herald tossed her long hair slightly, and allowed her mare to canter towards the Commander.  The dawn air was crisp and chilled , as she moved forward, she began to feel more aware of her surroundings.  As the horse trotted over the dirt road, she could feel each step stop the breath in her chest.  _We’re going to seal the Breach, this will all be over soon.  The Breach will be sealed, this will be over within the day,_ she thought to herself over and over again like a mantra in time with the mare’s footfalls.  _It will be done, it will be done.  But if not, oh Gods!  If not, I need to speak to him one last time!_  
 

As she slowed her mount beside the Commander he caught her eye and nodded away from the troops, beckoning her to ride away from the din of the soldiers.  She nodded in return and they both steered their horses in the opposite direction.  The horses' hooves stamped quietly through damp earth as they made their way farther from the road and the jostling group, trotting closer to the privacy of the lake.  The controlled breath of the Herald was visible in the cold morning air.  
 

“You’re the Herald of Andraste,” he started without preamble when they were a reasonable distance from the commotion of the gathered forces.  “You’ll seal the Breach, and order will be restored.  If anyone can do it, it’s you Amara.”  
 

_He used my name,_ the Herald thought to herself.  Despite the circumstances, she enjoyed the way it sounded coming from his lips.  She found herself blushing slightly.  
 

“I hope you’re right, Cullen,” she addressed him informally.  She liked the way the sound of his name rolled off of her tongue.  She shook her head gently and closed her eyes.  “Please assure me if I fail you’ll get the others to safety.”  She opened her eyes to glare directly into the Commander’s own.  His eyes blazed with an emotion the Herald could not quite understand.  It wasn’t confidence, it was something difficult to make out.  
 

“I wish I could make this promise to you, but I cannot.  If you fail, we’ve all failed.  There  will be nowhere safe for anyone anymore.”  
 

“That makes me feel so much better,” the Herald chuckled, more out of hysteria than out of humor.  “Thank you for that, Commander!”  
 

“Do what you can, Herald,” he said in a low whisper.  “Maker preserve you.  Maker preserve us all.”  He nodded solemnly.  Then, abruptly as if steeling himself, he leaned slightly away from his horse and extended his gloved hand towards her.  The Herald started, blushed more deeply, and held her hand aloft for him to take.  A smile stretched his lips, the scar that marred his upper lip shined in the dawn's light. He brushed his lips against the skin of her hand.  
 

The touch of his lips, even in this chaste gesture sent shivers down her spine.  If she was blushing before, it was nothing compared to the glow she could feel emanating from her face now.  It wasn’t even a kiss in the best sense of the word, it was more like a wisp of a touch.  Why should such an innocent touch send her mind spiraling in such a way?  Why would something so innocent make her insides twist with such heat?  
 

He let her hand fall gently back to her side, his eyes smoldering.  She cleared her throat, and tried to give him an assuring smile.  Somehow it felt more like a goofy shit-grin.  “The ale’s on you if I seal the Breach, right?” she asked, hands wringing in her mare’s bridle.   
 

“They're on me if you seal that wretched thing!” He called, laughing over his shoulder as he galloped away.  Wistfully, she looked east to the waters of the slightly lapping lake.  She gritted her teeth and tapped her mare with her heels, heading towards her comrades.  It was time to save her friends and the people of Thedas so she could come back and have celebratory drinks with Cullen!

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 “What the friggin’ shit is that crazy bitch doing out there?  Aren’t we supposed to close that friggin’ glowing hole?  Can’t we just get on with it for fuck’s sake!”  Sara complained loudly to whoever had the ears to listen.  “She all, ‘love you, love you we’re gonna die so let’s snog in the morning mist!’  Don’t know too much about those Dalish, but I reckon they don’t get a whole lot of snogging done day to day, ya know what I mean, yeah?”  Sara looked over her shoulder.  No one was listening.  She glared at the farrier that was fussing over her mount’s horseshoes.  “Oy, shit for brains, did you hear me?”  
 

“No ma'am, I did not, but I’m sure I agree with you, miss, I do,” he said with a serious expression.  
 

“Well if that’s the friggin’ best I’m gonna get,” Sara rolled her eyes.  “Are we gonna do this or what?”  She kicked her horse’s sides, perhaps a little too hard, leaving the farrier in the dust.  It was all she could do to hang on to the beast galloping at breakneck speed.  Her fingers were tangled in her horse’s mane and she tilted her head to the sky and let out a raucous war cry as she flew to the head of the pack.  “Let’s fix this fuckin’ shit!”  
 

A roar rose from the soldiers and even from some Mages.  The crowd grew more boisterous at this rallying cry and they began their march forward. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Breach is a bitch that no one likes... so The Herald has to deal with it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for typos and awful grammar. This chapter has been sitting for a while, but life has found a way to interfere with my favorite past times. Proof reading is something I've tried to do several times to no avail. Thank you all for reading regardless! It's truly a pleasure for me to know that anyone cares to read my stupid story!

The Breach hung over the sky like an ugly green anus. It was grotesque ... it smelt like sulfur... it was disgusting. The Herald wanted little to do with it, but she knew this was what she had traveled from Haven to defeat. She shuttered then turned her face to the sky to gaze directly upon the monstrosity. The emerald hole had a swirling disfigured look about it and clumps of broken earth hung twisting around the coil. Sometimes the midair chunks would collide, scattering rocks and dirt to the ground with an unnatural thud. It was an awful disfiguring thing to look at but she had to - to steel herself against it. It was time to take care of this fucking mess.  
The Herald could tell that she was being gazed at by the Mages provided by Fiona. She knew they would pour their mana into her body when the she was ready. She looked past them and gazed towards the soldiers lining the destroyed walls of the temple. They were here to stop the abominations that would pour through the sky’s green asshole should she fail to close it for good. It was time - no more pretending. She had to utilize the mark on her left hand to close this disfigurement.  
The Herald had no rallying words for her troops. Her first and second in command were able articulate what she could not.  
“Mages!” Cassandra exclaimed, with a fierceness in her voice as she addressed the men and women behind her.  
“Look past the Herald, allow her will to draw from you!” Solas said, rallying attention.  
The Mages looked towards the Breach, and then past it, eyes unfocused. Fists clutched at staves, white-knuckled. The ground practically vibrated from the magic pushing towards the Herald. Her hair whipped past her shoulders and she tried ground herself. So much energy... so much power. Her left hand convulsed and she grasped it with her right. It felt as if it had a mind of its own. It reached towards the Breach as if on it’s own accord. It was being draw as if by a magnet.  
The air in front of her crackled like static. A green mist hung in front of her, thick as a curtain. She raised her hand in front of the fog and it parted, like it had been waiting for that action. Did she command it? Could it possibly be folded and bent to her will with such simple movements?  
She took a tentative step froward into the swirling green gloom. Electricity burned through her skin, crackled through her core. She seized, her muscles unresponsive to her will. No, of course this isn’t going to be easy. Push, bitch, push!!!  
Sweat beaded on her brow as she struggled, breathless, to push her legs forward. It was as if she had boulders attached to each of her limbs. She struggled and pushed towards her goal. Blood began to rush from her nose. It was glutinous, hot and drenched over her lips with a sick metallic flavor.  
She released a strained stream of air, peppering the air with her blood. It didn’t matter. The only thing in front of her was the Breach. She inched forward. Step by step. Her muscles protested in agony.  
Everything was pain. Pain in her future, pain in her past. Blinding, tumultuous pain. Her vision swirled and the Earth swayed. She leaned on her staff like it was the only thing binding her to the ground. It may as well have been the only thing rooting her in place. She was convulsing, bleeding, and losing consciousness. A haze of deepest black crept into her vision - her periphery was obscured. A tunnel-like whiteness was in the center of her eyes.  
“Mages!” Cullen’s voice bellowed from what sounded like many miles away. “If you don’t channel your mana into The Herald we all die where we stand! Focus your energy into her! If she dies, we all die! Allow your power to become her own! Soldiers, stand ready to fight!”  
Magic tingled around her body, empowering her in an ethereal way. She could see more clearly now and she focused on her goal. She moved her feet more surely, focusing on a clear spot a yard in front of the Breach. She spit more blood from her face, and worked tediously through the heavy air to stand on the desecrated stones before the hole in the sky.  
She screamed with effort as she raised her hand to the Breach. For a moment, it was like her arm was being ripped from the socket of her shoulder - then numbness surrounded her body. She could feel her body being lifted away from the Earth. The Herald’s eyes widened and her pupils dilated. It was not painful anymore. Everything seemed soft and slightly blurred. It was as if she was being carried in a loving embrace into the Fade. That’s it, she thought to herself, I must be dead. If being dead feels this great, I don’t think I’ll fight anymore.

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Cassandra watched in horror as a beam of light carried The Hearld far above the heads of the Inquisition. She was arced with a graceful curve and her hair swirled languidly around her body, as if in some weird suspension. Out of the light, a desire demon could be seen to take form. The strangely beautiful demon wrapped her body around The Herald’s own, stroked her hair, and appeared to whisper into her ear. The sky crackled with unearthly lightening and a horde of demons appeared on the ground.  
Cassandra could hear Cullen from a distance ordering the soldiers to charge forward and fight the monstrosities that had materialized from seemingly thin air. Beside her Solas continued ordering the Mages to focus magical energy in to The Herald.  
“For Amara - The Herald!” Cassandra bellowed as she charged to meet a particularly ugly spirit. She unsheathed her sword as she ran, dodged the disgusting creature’s rancid claws, and thrust her weapon deep into its abdomen. She used the strength of her whole body to rip in a downwards motion and landed hard on her knees, skittering to a stop. With a shriek it disappeared into a vapor that reeked like necrotic body tissue. The troops were beginning to storm the innards of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Cassandra could feel a sneer curling her lips.  
A ferocious pirouette led her into a lunge that ripped the ether legs from the next demon that faced her. Fade ooze sprayed into her face from the lethal wound. She whipped her sword quickly to the side to rid its blade of the dark sludge. She was able to steal a glimpse of the Herald still intertwined with the demon, hovering in midair. The arches that stood on the crumbling battlements were hesitant to take a shot at the demon, for there was as a likely chance that they would end up hitting their savior as well.  
“Varric!” she bellowed loudly, trying to make her voice elevate above the din. “Take the shot!”  
“Kinda busy here Seeker!” he shouted back without a backwards glance. From the corner of her eye she could see he was circled by four ghoulish figures. He fired Bianca with a feverish pace, but the odds were against him with the enemies so near to him. “Some help would be appreciated!”  
Cassandra threw her weight into her sword arm and crashed it against her shield several times. The demons halted their attack momentarily as the noise. The enemy might be fierce in battle but they weren’t necessarily the sharpest blades in the armory. They began to rally towards the clattering. “Now, Varric, while they are distracted!”  
“Maker take it, Seeker, that fucking demon is all over her. I can’t get a clear shot!” Varric was aiming Bianca at the Herald and breathing heavily from the heat of battle and the frustration of not being able to hit a target.  
Cassandra growled angrily as the evil spirits were now focusing all their wrath upon her. She dodged, weaved, and lunged at the pressing horde. She was beginning to feel overwhelmed. “I need assistance,” she cried to who ever could hear her. Stupid as they were, they were difficult adversaries nonetheless. A dirty claw found her sword arm. The moment lasted a fraction of a second, but somehow seemed like a lifetime to Cassandra. The sharp claws ripped her forearm, slicing a hot agony through her skin and the muscle underneath until, with a shattering pop, the bone fractured. Her sword dropped to the ground in slow motion. Hot blood sprayed from the horrific wound in a grotesquely graceful way. It was almost mesmerizing.  
Her forearm hung limp and useless from her elbow. A few quivering bits of tendon and skin where all that held her arm in place. She could taste the blood that had gushed forward into her open mouth, but somehow she could not feel the pain of her injury. She clutched the broken bloody arm to her chest and stabilized the limb that was almost no longer attached to her body with her shield arm. She would not lose a piece of herself today. “Solas! I need healing,” she gasped as she pushed past the demons, cowering behind her shield. Her body was beginning to convulse. Not today, Cassandra thought to herself. I will not die like a coward behind my shield!  
As Cassandra pushed toward the relative safety of the battlements, Sera pushed past her with a wicked grin on her face. “Get to cover you,” she said. “I’ll kill that demon bitch, but have potions ready, cos I’m probably gonna nick the Herald. It’s better than us all dying though, innit?”  
Cassandra wanted to protest, be she did not have the strength to argue against her logic. Solas had managed to blast a hole in the earth that had left much of the enemy either dying or staggering to hold onto their place in this plane. He approached Cassandra and ripped a piece of canvas from the sleeve of his shirt. He folded the scrap of cloth upon itself several times over and shoved it into her mouth. “Bite, please,” he instructed. She nodded and allowed Solas to place the sweaty material between her molars and occluded hard against it. Then he gave a curt nod and twisted her arm back into place. The adrenaline flowing from her brain that had first made her injury seem painless must have been depleted. The pain was horrific. She screamed through her gritted teeth, biting hard into the makeshift gauze.  
From a haze of pain Cassandra could hear Solas’ murmured spells and then Sera’s battle cry. She focused hard onto the sky above her. She could see a single arrow slicing though the green haze. It was aimed at The Herald. No... at the demon. The desire demon’s head was on The Herald’s shoulder. Sera’s arrow shot straight though her shoulder and ripped though the demon’s forehead. The spell was over. The demon was dead. The Herald spiraled towards the mortar of the temple as the demon disappeared. Solas pushed Cassandra hard against the ground in his hast to help The Herald and used the last of his energy to set a barrier to stop her collision with the ground below. He fell to his knees, holding strong to the barrier and called for Vivienne, or any other mage, pleading for help.  
The Herald landed lightly onto the ground just as Solas collapsed, his mana depleted. Cassandra held tightly to her half mended arm, unconsciousness a tantalizing alternative to reality. “Mages,” she tried calling, but her voice was a horse whisper. “Focus... on... The Herald...”  
Blood loss and pain had weakened her so much it was difficult to tell what was real and what was an illusion. She thought she saw The Herald stand on shaky legs and lift her cursed hand to the Breach with a bloodied arrow piercing straight thought her shoulder gleaming blood stained tip that protruded from somewhere directly under her clavicle. She thought she saw the Breach get smaller in size, and thought she heard shouts of triumph. But how could she be certain?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of these characters. I wish I did, then I'd be rich!!!


End file.
